


Military Field Intelligence

by id_ten_it



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Character Development, Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:12:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Raymond (everyone's favourite mission fairy) before he became the mission fairy, following an explanation of his assertion that he was a fighter pilot, and his subsequent move to Military Intelligence. Also keep your eyes peeled for his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Military Field Intelligence

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to write more but realistically that will require a lot more background prep than I can do at the moment. The quote is from COL Henderson, the 'real' father of the RAF, Dir Military Intelligence, British Army, taken from his 1904 book on Military Intelligence. This book is sadly very difficult to get a hold of but this quote is widely available and published (sometimes attributed to others) and provides an insight I think into the world Raymond was entering.

_The successful Intelligence officer must be cool, courageous, and adroit, patient and imperturbable, discreet and trustworthy. He must understand the handling of troops and have a knowledge of the art of war._

  
As a young Officer, Raymond spent vast quantities of his time reading. Although Henderson’s book had been published just over a decade earlier, it was still highly relevant to his own experiences and Henderson’s passages on Air Reconnaissance were deeply impressive. It was clearly the way forward, and over those long, loud, days all through the second half of that terrible year, whilst moving between hospitals and recovery wards, he read the book many times. Later, back in France, he had to do an awful lot more than close his eyes to escape the grainy images of the Somme. Without a single distraction back home any more (apart from the occasional letter from his parents), Raymond plunged even further into the development of Air Reconnaissance, drinking information from his SNCOs at a pace remarkable even for that period in history. Even though the new cameras were being rolled out along the whole front, they weren’t nearly as clear as the sorts of images he’d be used to later in his life.

  
It was another grey, muddy, day when Raymond stepped onto 266 soil, seeking to check up not only on the men reporting to him but also, and far more importantly, to learn first-hand how things were shaping up for them. There were so many things that these young men would know that he simply hadn’t been taught and, he fervently hoped, vice-versa. The Squadron OC met him very courteously and introduced him again to the Intelligence men, as well as the variety of Officers scattered near the office. “And this is Bigglesworth” Raymond glanced up at the rather unprepossessing specimen in front of him. His boyish face was hardly offset by the slim build and feminine hands. The whole impression was one of weakness, even girlishness. Perhaps Bigglesworth sensed it because his salute was immaculate and his eyes flashed an intriguing warning. Raymond was hooked. The utter contrast was deeply interesting. A puzzle. “Bigglesworth” he acknowledged, with a matching salute, following the OC into his office and returning to the matter in hand. Bigglesworth’s name came up a few more times in the conversation, always with the same impressed tilt of the head from the OC as he detailed ‘scrapes’ that had been met and overcome by this least prepossessing of pilots. Taking his leave after a dinner with his own men, Raymond took down a few notes as his instructors had told him to, months enough ago now. He didn’t know how important the name with three question marks next to it would become over the following decades.

_He must be able to win the confidence of his General,_

  
“It’s absolutely out of the question Raymond!”  
The young man didn’t seem particularly surprised to hear this ejaculation, maintaining the position which Army drill considered appropriate for such an occasion. “Absolutely. Out of the question. The idea. Out of the question.” To underline his point the OC of Raymond’s Military Intelligence Unit pushed his glasses up his radish-like nose and glowered at the specimen of manhood before him. “Absolutely.” Having thus repeated himself three times, he paused as if to consider what to say next. Raymond took his chance, “I thought it would benefit the Squadron rather well Sir. You have been wanting to see Langton promoted and this would be his chance. Eight weeks taking over my duties whilst I am away, and when I return I shall be the world’s expert in aerial photography. I already have the practical experience, I’m the best man for the job. We would be the best functioning unit in the trade by an even longer leg than we are now. I could actually talk to the source rather than our requests loosing clarity through the grapevine. You commented yourself that flying has changed a lot in the two years I’ve been away from it. There has been a lot of confusion recently, especially around the North.” It was more than he’d anticipated getting out, so Raymond subsided, rather well pleased with himself, when the OC returned his freshly polished glasses to his nose and regarded Raymond again. “Hurrumph.” The older man muttered. “You’ve been in the Army for years and never felt the need to leave your post before. Years, you’ve been in this Army. Never a thought of leaving your post before.” With suspicious eyes, he concluded, “you’re going to transfer back.”  
“No Sir.” Raymond’s own eyes were clear and steady, “I shouldn’t like to leave my office Sir, only I think I will do a better jo-“  
“Never a thought of leaving your post before” the OC lamented, “in all your years in the Army.” And he shook his head as though he’d had a very original thought that very second.

“Thank you for your time, Sir.” Raymond had no intention of allowing the OCs triplicate statements to blossom into a monologue, and left as soon as his salute had been acknowledged, glad the seed had been planted.

 

“Well that’s that,” he announced a few weeks later, looking around their small office, “good luck Langton.”  
“Thank you Sir” Raymond nodded, turned on his heel, and spent the next few weeks home in blessed Blighty, balancing a few quick lectures to the cadets with hours sitting in the New College gasping down knowledge on shutter speeds and bank angles.

  
“Well Raymond, how was your trip?” the OC enquired when that young man returned, “Adequate training? Ready to get stuff direct from the source?”  
“Yes Sir”  
“So you can get imagery from the source now? Direct from the source? Provided you’ve had adequate training of course. You did find the training adequate?” He added as an afterthought, ignoring Raymond’s internal sigh and selecting another cigar with care. “Tell me about it.” He added, offering Raymond a cigar as well. Some part of Raymond’s brain desired to answer with ‘I had training adequate to allow me to direct from the source sir’ but the part which made him such a good professional soldier fortuitously took over his mouth at that moment. “I really do believe we shall see a far better style of image coming into us over the next few weeks Sir. Coupled with the increased experience men such as Langton have gained whilst I was away, this Squadron will undoubtedly find itself at the very edge of Military Intelligence thanks to your foresight.”  
“Harrumph” the OC muttered again, but he puffed rather happily on his cigar for all that. “Well go and debrief Langton then.” Raymond went. Perhaps if he’d known how his life would be shaped from that simple decision, he would have displayed significantly less sang-froid. As it was, he rather enjoyed the next few weeks’ activities, which all required him to demonstrate his new-found knowledge and culminated in appropriating an aeroplane and preparing to take himself on another tour of the airfields in the area.

_and to inspire confidence in his subordinates._

  
Raymond, despite his internal misgivings, had been taken to the corps HQ. Like the RFC themselves, it was made by pulling various people together, Officers, Non-commissioned Officers and even some civilians hastily pressed into uniform. “You should get to know your way around pretty quickly, Raymond.” His companion was an informal Captain who had never been in an aeroplane, which perhaps explained his evident distrust for those he worked with who had. “We tend to stay in one place you see which helps” Raymond laughed appropriately, “and of course we’re always popping next door to ask someone else a question. Now here’s your office and here’s your men…”  
Raymond hadn’t had ‘men’ since he was in Sandhurst and he regarded them with a small amount of distrust, unsure quite how to approach or address them. Settling for middle ground he smiled his normal bright smile, “Morning! Nice to meet you all” Having received their collective salute he felt sure enough to follow the Captain around and shake their hands, trying to remember their names. “I’ll let the Staff Sergeant show you the rest of the way around, Raymond. Come and find me if you need anything else.” And with that Raymond was left alone with his photo-reconnaissance section, all of them staring at him and him staring back not much better. Thankfully he gasped out, “Carry on. Perhaps you could do the honours, Staff?” off they went, through a maze of tunnels and corridors in the old chalet, meeting myriad people hustling here and there with stacks of papers and images, Raymond trying to drink it all in but distressingly aware he hadn’t been in anything remotely like this since his last term at Sandhurst, playing at being in an HQ, and now he wasn’t playing anymore, he was an injured ex-pilot operating an intelligence cell in the greatest war the world had ever known. “I’ll show you again next week if you like Sir. It might make more sense when you’ve understood where we fit in exactly”  
“Thanks very much, Staff.” Raymond took a deep breath. “What was my predecessor like?” That conversation – stolid and unimaginative but a good manager – led them back to the office where he could get introduced to the various techniques and stages of producing and analysing really good images.

  
***

“It will be a shame to see you go sir.” The Staff Sergeant was sincere, offering his boss a warm handshake.  
“Thank you Staff.” Raymond looked around at all of them – all changed faces since his first day, apart from the Staff Sergeant – and added, “it’s a shame to go. But I know your new commander will do an excellent job. Until he arrives keep up the good work.” The leather strap of his bag was cold against his neck as he walked down the corridor, past all of the doors he now knew so well, but by the time he was on the train east it was warm and supple, cooling again when he put it on the floor between his feet and pulled out a letter to read. Phyllis’ last letter was typically chatty and breezy, painting a hopeful picture of suburban life and filling him in on the things his Mother wouldn’t say in her letters. Her somewhat confused comments about her brothers made him smile though he could well understand that deep down they were a painful topic.

In part it read:  
_I’m sure when you went through it was a full course, a whole year and languages and manoeuvres and all those sorts of things, but that’s not the case now. Jonathon only had three months though so eight months to him is a huge novelty and certainly a step in the right direction. He’s going to find it hard though I think because he was always so fond of games and having a good time. He’s very gay. But I don’t suppose you can have that in the Army and he’ll be ever so changed when he comes back. If he comes back though I shall be so glad I don’t suppose I’ll mind._  
_It was lovely to see you last month. Do come again if you can; it cheers Mother up to see you and your Mother you know and Father does enjoy having a man about the place. It sounds like you’re doing something frightfully exciting and we all look forward to hearing all about it!_

  
It was with a somewhat guilty expression that he returned to the newspaper, reminding himself that when he was settled in his new digs he had best send Phyllis his new address at least. It was nice having a friendly letter in his bag.

  
After three weeks in his new location closer to the lines, any thoughts he might have retained the veneer of a Gentleman were completely banished, he was completely sick of mud, and the ability to sit down and eat a full meal without having to kill a parasite or rush to the latrines was a far distant memory. One of the ridiculously young lieutenants – he wasn’t entirely sure of his name because they filed through so quickly he rarely saw them twice – told him he was going back to England to learn to fly. “Well mind you get one of the new ‘planes” Raymond cautioned, “or you’ll end up like me, without a squadron and now better for flying a desk.” The lieutenant laughed, far too excited to be going back to Blighty to show any sympathy even if Raymond had wanted it. But it got the Major thinking (Major on appointment, Colonel to be expected if these raids went on as they were and, presuming he survived, he might well end up Minister for War, who knew?). With a little tugging of strings a chance was created. Raymond seized it with both hands and miraculously ended up in a Wing, with the impressive title and lack of mud particular to the organisation. It was there that he thought perhaps he could be turning into a real member of the intelligence community, with a desire for a personal life but an overwhelming preoccupation with work.

  
_He must have resolution to continue unceasingly his search for information, even in the most disheartening circumstances and after repeated failures._

  
There had been a lot of losses lately as well Raymond knew, more than some of those because of the images he had demanded. Yet he continued to get hundreds of blurry black and white prints of the Somme, until he could close his eyes and picture the whole alien landscape as clearly as if he himself were flying overhead. They lay pieced together with dates etched in their bottom right corners in white, new ones placed over the old. Sometimes these new photographs were picked up and moved simply so he could compare the two or three prints underneath them, one eye magnified hugely through his glass.  
In this way it was easy to see the changes taking place on the landscape, to see new structures being built (was that an ammo dump or a supplies depot?) and watch the criss-cross of lines grow ever deeper and more convoluted as new units were pushed into the front. His Uncle, a gentleman farmer, would have wept over the state of the land but it wasn’t until three years later, in that honourable gentleman’s estate, that Raymond would consider the soil that was part of those pictures he’d seen, and drink the rest of his cup of tea in silence.

_He must have endurance to submit silently to criticism, much of which may be based on ignorance or jealousy._

  
The welcoming scent of perfume and cigarettes wafted its way into Raymond’s dreams. With a happy sigh he rolled over, sheets rustling somewhat as his skin scraped across it. The lady next to him curled her lips slightly, running a hand through his short brown hair, smiling more widely when he mumbled a different name and sighed. He was clearly dreaming of a different lady but that wasn’t unusual in this particular house. “Josie?” by the way he moved closer to her she was going to be a very lucky lady. It was around then that he woke up and blushed a rather shy, very English, blush. She hastened to reassure him the best way she knew how.

The same scent of perfume followed him two months later, when he was in London on ‘official business.’ “A present for me?” Josephine opened her arms delightedly, as happy as a child with a sweetie.  
“From France” Raymond promised, passing her the bottle of scent and sneaking in a kiss at the same time, “only the best for my future wife.”  
She smiled, eyes still on the bottle, carefully raising it for a sniff, dabbing it gently on her white neck with another approving smile. “Do you know you’ll have a job after the war?” her scented hands moved quickly to the sideboard, pouring them both a glass of wine, lips parting smoothly over the glass as she took a deep drink.  
“I’ve told you what I do Josie. I will have enough experience to have a job after the war.” He struggled to keep his face smooth, not at all sure that she hadn’t had a conversation with one of her fathers’ old friends. Josie was rather dim sometimes and he certainly didn’t want her to splash around some half-considered story of his secret work at their next dinner party.  
“But I don’t know what you do. You just poke around in a dull office you said. That doesn’t sound very important or interesting. Why don’t you go back to flying? Then you could fly over here for leave.” Her voice was ever so slightly nasal, tinging towards a whine.  
“I’ve told you I’m posted to HQ. I can’t just go back to flying. There’s other work that needs doing too-“  
“but not as important as flying and killing Germans!” clutching the refilled glass in front of her she faced him squarely, the months of defending him bubbling over in a very impetuous and un-british way. “How am I supposed to go out in public with a man who turned down the chance to do his bit properly and ran away to a desk instead? Are you really so inconsiderate of your duty?” each question was punctuated with a sharp gesture with the glass. She was working herself into a frenzy. “What will we tell our children?”  
“Children? You want children?”  
Standing outside hastily pulling on his coat he realised that wasn’t the best thing to say. Slowly the now single young man struggled to walk calmly down the street, vaguely aware this must have been going on for some months, his steps the slow pace of a man who has found resolution on a problem that has been a long time coming. Turning his steps towards the field, aware it was the last time he would travel this road, was like waking from a dream. The drizzle made him shrug his coat closer and wish for a scarf.

 

***

On his return to his ‘dull, boring’ office his Sergeant grinned a greeting “How was your trip Sir?”  
It wasn’t his fault Raymond dropped down into his seat with a glum sigh, “Not nearly as good as I had hoped. She didn’t like that I wasn’t flying around killing Germans so that’s it. I…I suppose I’m single.” His upper lip, partially obscured by the young officer moustache, twitched. “All because I couldn’t tell her what I do!”  
His sergeant grunted sympathetically. “That’s a real problem Sir. My own Mother asks sometimes what to say at those infernal knitting meetings. What between the soldiers and the airmen and the navy boys up in the North Sea there’s plenty of people doing ‘proper work’….and she just doesn’t know what to say.”  
“Well perhaps that’s for the best” Raymond considered, “You can’t very well advertise you’re analysing the damage that we are taking of the fronts, and helping the Generals to run the war!”  
“Neither of us can” the Sergeant sighed, sipping a cup of lukewarm attempt at coffee, grimacing automatically, and pulling over the newest stack of images. “Here we are anyway Sir. A new batch of them.”  
“Well let’s see the damage then Sergeant” Raymond took up his own mug of liquid and drew the stack closer.

_And he must be able to deal with men,_

  
“These images are excellent quality. Thank you” The young man in front of his desk smiled a tired smile, delicate hands pushing dirty hair out of clear blue eyes. “Thank you sir” the smile was a bit tight but Raymond was more than used to that. It had been three years now, and he got a shock every time he went back to England. For all of that, there was something not quite normal about Bigglesworth “Well…” Raymond cleared his throat a little harshly, tugging on his cuffs, “thank you very much.” Pocketing the prints, he swung out of the office again, pulling his hat down over his red ears, not at all happy with his discomfit, dropping heavily onto his bike and heading off back to town for the ‘general’s meeting’.  
“Lucky bugger” Algy murmured, coming up behind Biggles as the motorcycle swept from view. To Biggles’ slightly bemused murmur he added, “all the fun. Girls and warm beds and the whole shooting match!” Biggles murmured something indistinct again, moving towards his room, causing Algy’s eyes to roll fondly.

 _Mr Raymond,_ read the letter Raymond opened in the Mess after dinner,  
_I write to inform you – although you have no doubt read it in the paper during your tea break – that I am engaged to be married. The date is set for the next leave dear Arthur can obtain. Leave is apparently difficult to get when in a combat unit. Arthur is a fine soldier, having been in for almost six months now and already being involved in the battle at V---, which of course we all followed with much interest back here. I write merely to ensure that our former alliance is clearly broken, and to inform you of my happy change in circumstances._  
_Respectfully,_

_Josephine May._

  
“Alright Sir?” Quiet brown eyes regarded the Intelligence Officer calmly, “cup of something?”  
“Hmmm?” Raymond lifted his head, regarding the brown body attached to those eyes, “Sorry?”  
“I said would you like a cup of something Sir? It’s...well it’s a bit nippy.” His words were a gentle murmur and very correct, which Raymond, in his raw emotional state, greatly appreciated. “Yes, that would be rather pleasant.” Whilst the young pilot organised some liquid refreshment, Raymond sunk into the deep leather smoking chair, turning the letter over in his hands, re-reading the few lines it contained and cringing away from the low opinion she had made no attempt to hide. “Here you are Sir” Algy regarded Raymond thoughtfully, wondering how much he should say, pondering a retreat to the piano stool but settling instead in another smoking chair. “Mail come through did it?”  
“This one came from HQ with a runner. He was down for something else and thoughtfully brought in my mail too.” At the young man’s interested look he added, “It sounds as though I will be staying here for another week at least. New orders.” Algy nodded, entirely unconvinced, having already noted the personal stationery that Raymond held in his hands, but he merely sipped his own drink.  
After a few more minutes of silence he continued “It’s pretty quiet here tonight. Most of the boys are in town actually” with a disarming smile he added, “last time I went I lost a girl though so I didn’t feel up to it this week.” Discretely he lowered his gaze again, and soon enough Raymond cleared his throat. “Sorry to hear that.” With a monumental effort he remembered to whom he spoke, “Algy isn’t it? Bigglesworth’s friend.” Algy nodded in agreement “Did she do it in person?”  
“Well she kissed another man from my lap.”  
The sentence had the desired response, Raymond’s face twisting in harsh sympathy. “That’s low. Even for a companion” Algy’s grimace invited further conversation and he murmured sheepishly, “this letter is essentially the same thing. Not in person of course” The young face in front of him invited further confidences and Raymond found himself telling Algy all about it, how he met Josephine through her father when he was in London, his subsequent move from flying to intelligence work, his explanation to her about his new job as a desk job, as he couldn’t in safety tell her what he really did, her dismissal of his important work as mere makework and therefore not deserving of her interest, their subsequent argument, his return to France, and her letter dismissing him as not worth her while. “So that is that. It would be much easier to tell her what she is missing out on”  
“You can’t tell her Sir”  
Raymond smiled a little at the wide-eyed shock in Algys eyes, “No I won’t, but it would have saved this whole unhappy saga.” Perhaps aware of the sad tone he buried himself in his drink, letting Algy get his breath back. “Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean that you would….” His hair flopped into his eyes as he shook his head, “you know, really tell her. I was just surprised to hear that. I suppose I hadn’t thought about how difficult it must be for men in your position.” That was probably the truth, Raymond mused, given Algy’s general air of bemusement and youthful naiveté. It was the first time he’d encountered that mix of emotions in someone in this part of the world. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. “It can be, but needs must. I’m sure it will be different after the War.”

_to approach his source of information with tact and skill, whether such source be a patriotic gentleman or an abandoned traitor._

  
“You never could keep yourself tidy” his mother chided him, wiping a smut off his cheek “But at least your clothes are neat.”  
Raymond smiled slightly to himself, glad that his dress Army uniform pleased his Mother. “Thank you Mother. You look very nice too.” Which she did, having dressed herself up ready to chaperone her son to the dance. “Thank you. It will be lovely to see the Williamsons again. She so infrequently manages to come out to these things. It makes it hard for poor Phyllis. Her mother suffers so patiently. Two sons dead did you hear?” Raymond buttoned his coat briskly, “yes Mother, you wrote that in your last letter.”

The dance was as cheerful as could be expected and Raymond found it rather bewildering to be surrounded by pretty women and clean, tidy, smiling men, eating the delicious hot food from the kitchen and telling a few amusing stories from France. If he turned past the rather buxom girl on his right he could see the table where his mother and Mrs Williamson sat talking. The girl’s cleavage was very free so he had to keep checking on his mother’s friend. It was so hard for poor Mrs Williamson after all.

  
The dancing was quick and adept, and Raymond found that he wasn’t quite up to the speed that he had been. Their dancing in France was of a rather different kind. The girl with the cleavage – Elizabeth – danced a couple times with him and he fetched her a drink during the next quick step. It was as he was returning for a drink for himself (and wishing that he could take a seat) when the overstimulation of the evening and his desire for a drink caused him to turn a little too quickly, jolting his glass against Phyllis. “Miss Williamson!” He couldn’t help a flush, awkwardly aware that he hadn’t properly replied to her last few letters and thus had a couple years to catch up on. “You’re looking lovely tonight.” The light blue she was wearing brought out her eyes, the flowers arranged on her dress demurely raised the neckline but on her it was intriguing, especially when she dropped the fan and smiled up at him. “Major Raymond. Thank you very much.”


End file.
